


Be A Lady Tonight

by leiascully



Category: Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: F/M, Jealousy, Possessive Behavior
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-11-06
Updated: 2011-11-06
Packaged: 2017-10-25 18:44:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,293
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/273541
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/leiascully/pseuds/leiascully
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There's no enjoying jazz when you're worried your wife might truly be entranced by the next smoky-voiced crooner who wanders her way.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Be A Lady Tonight

**Author's Note:**

> Timeline: Post-6.13  
> Concrit: Welcome  
> A/N: This is a little bit more meta than I intended, but [**hihoplastic**](http://hihoplastic.livejournal.com/) wanted Jealous!11 and I thought it might be nice if River and the Doctor went to hear Frank Sinatra sing at the Sands, and then all of this happened. Title is of course from the wonderful and every-so-slightly sexist "Luck Be A Lady".  
>  Disclaimer: _Doctor Who_ and all related characters are the property of Russell T. Davies, Stephen Moffat, and BBC. No profit is made from this work and no infringement is intended.

The last person the Doctor expects to see at the Sands is River Song, who by all accounts ought to be in prison. That was where he left her, after all, not so very long ago. He certainly doesn't expect to see her leaning up against the bar, flirting with Frank Sinatra. Frank says something to her and she tips her head back and laughs, then puts her hand on his arm and leans up to whisper in his ear. The Doctor's blood begins to boil. He stalks through the crowd toward them, and then thinks better of it and pivots on his heel, finding an empty space at the end of the bar where he can glower in peace. It might be a fluke; after all, Frank flirted with _him_ last time - the man can't seem to stop himself working a crowd. The Doctor orders a gin and tonic, excessively easy on the gin as in nearly-none-at-all, and watches.

River looks frankly stunning in something long and black and satiny and off the shoulder. He's never cared much for fashion, aside from what made him look cool, but he can definitely appreciate whomever came up with this. The dress accentuates her every curve and she's got plenty of them. The Doctor can't really blame Frank for chatting her up, but that doesn't mean he isn't Mister Grumpy Face about it, especially since River is still murmuring in Frank's ear. The Doctor mutters to himself about jazz men and the dubiousness of their morals, which earns him more than a few odd looks from the other patrons at the bar. After nearly an eternity, River leans back, squeezing Frank's arm one last time and shooing him off toward the stage. Frank gives her an extremely appreciative look as he saunters off, and River smiles into her drink.

The Doctor nearly storms over to her right then, but he forces himself to wait, sipping at his gin-scented tonic. River just stands there, drinking her whiskey and looking pleased with herself. The Doctor makes his drink last about twenty minutes, during which time three more men, two women, and a couple all try to pull his wife, at which point he really can't stand it anymore. He slaps his empty glass down on the bar, mutters "Too much gin" at the cranky bartender, and stomps around the length of the bar to stand right in front of River. Her eyes light up.

"Hello, sweetie!" she says, sounding delighted.

"Oh, yes, very nice," he says. "'Sweetie' me at a moment like this."

"What's wrong, my love?" she asks, her expression changing to concern. She sets her whiskey down and touches his arm. He'd find it more charming if he hadn't just seen her use the same move half an hour ago on his former friend, Frank.

"What's wrong?" he hisses. He sounds absurd, but he can't help himself. "What's wrong is that I just stood here watching my wife nearly pick up half the bar without even a hair out of place!"

"Is that all?" she says. She's clearly amused, and it only infuriates him more.

"That's more than enough!" he says. People are starting to look at them oddly, so he slips an arm around her sleek waist and leads her away from the crowd. It seems the most innocuous way of escorting her to a place where they can have an actual discussion. He's not having their first married fight in front of the entire population of the Sands - for one thing, Frank's recording tonight, and nobody wants bickering in the background of their hit record. For another, he's seen what can happen when River gets angry, and this building needs to be around for another couple of decades. He came to hear Frank sing, but he'd rather resolve this first. There's no enjoying jazz when you're worried your wife might truly be entranced by the next smoky-voiced crooner who wanders her way.

He presses his cheek to River's hair so that he can murmur in her ear as he leads her away. "You were in your cell, last time I saw you. You insisted, in fact, despite the fact that we'd just kissed the universe back into existence to seal our wedding vows."

"Yes," she tells him, her voice low and musical. From her expression, no one would be able to tell that he isn't giving her a detailed list of his plans for their evening. "I was. But now I'm not."

"I can't leave you alone for ten minutes without nearly seeing you commit adultery, is that it?" he whispers furiously. She laughs, her head tipping back flirtatiously, as they reach the elevators.

"Adultery?" she chuckles. "Oh, my dear, dear Doctor, you really are the absolute limit."

"Is it too much to ask for a little monogamy from the woman I've pledged my life to?" He taps his foot, impatient, and leads her toward the stairs instead.

"Which one?" she asks. She lifts the hem of her skirt so she doesn't catch her heels as she goes up to the landing. "Liz the First? Marilyn Monroe? Oh, Doctor, you can be quite the hypocrite. Shall we discuss adultery now?"

"Those weren't real!" he protests, climbing the stairs. "Well, nearly not real. They understood. At least, I think they did. Anyway, I didn't want to marry them. They just sort of talked me into it."

"You told me you didn't want to marry _me_ ," she reminds him.

"Rule One," he mutters. "Of course I wanted to marry you. Look how clever you'd been. But you were destroying the universe and I couldn't out and out tell you I was inside a giant robot powered by tiny people, now could I? Not in front of your parents. They were both armed. Besides which, I wanted you angry with me, so you'd end the timeline."

"That makes it all better, then," she says. "And you never asked for monogamy."

"Of course I did!" he says, outraged. "That's what marriage is!"

"Oh yes, our emergency handfasting in an aborted timeline," she says. "Very official, that. Extremely traditional. You didn't even ask me. You asked my parents _for_ me, as if I were some piece of property to be given away. You're so stuck in the past sometimes."

"We're Time Lords," he points out. ""We're in every time. We're above time."

" _I_ am," she says. "Your moral development seems to have stalled out midway through the Victorian Era. Vastra's less prudish than you are. In the fifty-first century, marriage means something else entirely, and sometimes involves forswearing all others but generally it doesn't. I wasn't planning on marrying any of them, if that's what concerns you."

"Not at all," he says sarcastically, stomping his way up the stairs. His legs are starting to burn. "What concerns me is that you might have done...married things with them."

She laughs at him again. "Yes, because it's physically impossible to do those things if you're _not_ married. Sweetie, this is the 60s."

"Good point," he says. "The 60s weren't a good decade for you, what with your kidnapping and the torture and all. Which brings me to my next question: why are you here?"

She pauses in her climb and looks down at him over the railing. "Because I was looking for a good man," she says. "I knew you'd be here - it's in the newspapers. I thought I'd surprise you."

"Yes, what a lovely surprise," he says. "You, in bed with half of Las Vegas. Next thing I know, you'll be engaged, in a manner of speaking." He slams his way up the stairs and into the first hallway he can find with rooms in it. He sonics open a door and holds it for her. "In here." He chains the door behind them. "Now we can talk."

She stares at him, her gaze like ice. "First of all," she says in a cold voice full of power that would make him turn tail and run if he weren't so braced up with anger, "I wasn't in bed with _any_ of Las Vegas and second of all, if I had been, it wouldn't have had anything to do with you. If you don't know by now that I love you more than anything or anyone else in the universe, then perhaps we ought to forget about this marriage entirely. I live for the days I see you, Doctor, but you and I both know that there are going to be plenty of days I won't, and if marrying you means giving up on my own life, then we can go our separate ways right now and save the trouble. As you so kindly pointed out, I've had enough people governing my body without my say-so already, so from now on, nobody's controlling what I do with myself but me. I'm nobody's property or plaything. I'll flirt with whom I like and I'll sleep with whom I like and none of it will mean that I love you any less, only that I _like_ flirting and sex. So unless this is all a lead-up to some sort of delightfully possessive shagging, you might want to leave before I really get angry."

He wants to still be mad at her, but she's right. He isn't being fair to her: she's a product of a different time, with different rules. Their marriage isn't exactly orthodox to begin with, especially with their timelines so wibbly-wobbly back-to-front. He has no right to ask her for anything but her love. In that, he knows, she'll always be faithful. None of the rest of it matters and he'd be quite the hypocrite to criticize her. All of the heat of his anger is turning into heat of quite another kind. She really is magnificent when she's angry, after all, and it would be a shame not to take advantage of the fact that they have a hotel room in the Sands with a bed and everything.

"You're right," he says, tucking the sonic back into his jacket pocket.

"Yes, I am," she says coolly, crossing her arms. "To which bit in particular were you referring?"

"Oh, all of it, clearly," he says, waving one hand and brushing his hair out of his eyes. "But the last bit, especially. Nothing like a bit of possessive shagging. Nothing like make-up sex, either. I hope you'll accept my deepest apologies, and I do mean extremely deep."

"So I'm supposed to believe you set up our first married fight just to get laid?" She raises an eyebrow at him. "Surely there are easier ways, like, for instance, saying, 'Hello, River, shall we have quite a lot of sex now, or would you like to listen to the music for a bit first?'"

"Rule Twenty-three," he tells her, shrugging off his tuxedo jacket and tossing it onto the bed. He unbuttons his cuffs and rolls up his sleeves. "I always, always know what I'm doing."

She rolls her eyes. "Rule One, more like."

"I know _exactly_ what to do with you, sweetheart," he says, letting his voice go low. He steps closer and she still hasn't decked him, so he risks caressing her shoulder where her lovely skin is left bare by the scoop of her gown.

"Put up or shut up, husband," she says, a smile curving her lips as she uncrosses her arms. He sidles around her and finds the zip of her dress, dropping a kiss at the nape of her neck. She tilts her head and sighs a little, but she doesn't move away. He eases down the zip, kissing the pretty line of her spine as he goes. She hums to herself and lets him slide the folds of satin off her shoulder before he pushes the rest of the dress down her body until it's a heap on the floor that she can easily step out of. He's there on his knees as she turns to face him, looking incredible and extremely dangerous in a black lace corset and stockings and some very nice heels.

"So here we are, wife," he says. "Quite the familiar tableau, isn't it. Me in a compromised position, you wearing some very sharp-looking shoes that could do quite a lot of damage if applied correctly, which is, I believe, just one of your many specialties when it comes to destroying someone utterly. Do you trust me to make up for my backwards ways?"

"Somehow you always manage," she says, and holds out her hand. He lets her pull him to his feet.

"Thank you," he whispers.

"I have no problem doing what I'm told," River tells him, her voice husky and thrilling. She wraps her arms around his neck. "But I'd better get something _very_ good out of it, and you'd better know exactly where you stand at the end of the day, which is right next to me and not a half a step ahead."

"I'm going to make you _want_ to belong to me," he promises. "You see, my new plan is to spoil you for every other being in the universe."

"A tall order," she says, swaying against him.

"Yes, it is," he says. "But I'm very, very good. Now take off those sexy little knickers and get up against the wall."

She looks up through her eyelashes at him and takes her knickers off more slowly than he would have thought possible, given the way she has to balance on those heels. He likes the show, though. The stockings stay on, attached by garters to the corset, but he doesn't mind. She looks incredible, all long legs and deadly curves; he wants to trace the seams up the backs of her stockings and the lace at the tops of her creamy thighs, but he stands aside and waits instead. She saunters over the the wall and leans against it, her breasts pushed up by the corset and heaving a little as she breathes faster.

"Not like that," he says, and turns her to face the wall. She braces herself with her forearms and looks back at him over her shoulder. He pauses a moment to take in the sight of her: his River, all tight lace and smooth muscle, waiting for him to make good on his wrongs. He can't keep her to himself forever, but he can prove to her that nobody will ever love her like he does. One step is all it takes to cross the space between them and press his front against her back. He slides one hand up the insides of her thighs, relishing the silky texture of the stockings, warmed by her skin, and the roughness of the lace, and then the wet heat of her, better than anything else he's ever felt. Oh yes, she's ready for him. He finds her clit and her back arches, pushing her pretty ass against him. His other hand flattens over her stomach, sliding up to cup her breast. She turns her head around further and he kisses her as the hand between her thighs explores her folds and the other hand teases her nipples.

"Spread your legs," he murmurs to her, nudging her legs apart with his knee. She shifts obligingly. He spares a moment from caressing her breasts to undo his trousers and release his cock from his underwear. It's almost a wrench to stop touching her, but he takes himself in hand and uses his cock in place of his fingers, sliding along her slick folds and rubbing his head against her clit. She rests her forehead on her hands and moans, and he takes the opportunity to kiss her neck, nuzzling aside her curls.

"My River," he whispers. "And I'm yours. It'll always be you and me, time and space, love given freely."

"Always and completely," she says, gazing at him. "And no flirt in the universe could change that. Now get on with your extremely deep apologies, husband."

He positions himself and pushes into her carefully; the angle's a bit strange for him, but she seems very pleased, canting her hips back against his as her back arches further. She moans and it's better than any music he's ever heard. He thrusts into her, pushing against the perfect curve of her ass as he buries his face in her curls. He loves the way her legs tremble when he reaches to touch her clit again. The muscles of her back and shoulders are tight as she braces herself against his thrusts and he sinks his teeth gently into the curve of her neck to make her shiver. He slips his arm around her under her breasts, rubbing against them and holding her to him all at once. He could forget all the rest of time when he's inside her, all of space and every wonder he's ever seen. He doesn't need anything but this, the two of them making a world all their own. He thrusts and she moans and it's just so _right_.

"River," he murmurs. "River, River, River." It's all he can say, all he can think. He can feel the beautiful arch of her body tightening even further as he strokes her inside and and out, her climax approaching.

"Doctor," she says. " _My_ Doctor."

"Yours," he promises. "Now come for me, wife."

She looks at him with a glint of surprise in her eyes and then the pleasure takes her, her body jolting. He presses her into the wall, using his weight to help still her shudders. He can't help feeling very smug - it isn't often he takes her by surprise. There are other feelings much more pressing, however; he nudges her legs farther apart and then takes her hands to stretch them above her head, splaying her up against the wall. She barely holds herself steady as he plunges into her, but she's watching him now, breathless and happy, urging him on. Her hands turn palm-up and she laces her fingers through his.

"Your turn, husband," she says. "That's an order."

"Yes, marm," he manages, and then he's crying out her name against her lips as their bodies shake in time. Neither of their legs will hold them; he eases out of her and they slide slowly down the wall until they collapse on the floor. He pulls her to him, kissing her forehead, and they lie there, chests heaving.

"Apology accepted," she says, her eyes heavy-lidded and a seemingly permanent smirk on her lips.

"Happy to hear it," he says. He lifts his impossibly heavy wrist to look at his watch. "We'd better get dressed or we'll miss the concert."

"You look slightly worse for the wear," she informs him. "It's a good thing you won't be singing any duets tonight, my love."

"Oh, let him have the glory this time," the Doctor says. He can't help smiling. "I've got better things."

"That you have," River says, kissing him lingeringly. "All the same, it would be a shame to miss it. Up you get."

He helps her back into her dress and she smooths his shirtfront and his hair as best she can. There's nothing to be done about the state of his trousers, but at least the club will be dark, and he won't be the only one in disarray tonight. And he's still got his bow tie, so that's cool.

"How do I look?" he jokes.

"Amazing," she says, her eyes shining with love.

"Shall we?" he asks, offering her his arm, but she slides under his shoulder and wraps her own arm around him, and they walk down side by side, just the way it ought to be.


End file.
